


The Lie-in

by codswallop



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Morning Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Teasing, Word Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1888926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin and Douglas's version of a lazy morning off. Which involves competition, word games, and orgasm denial, naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lie-in

**Author's Note:**

> A really long time ago, a very good friend said to me, "I want orgasm denial fic where Douglas makes Martin play word games in bed, and Martin is full of fail and does not get to come." And I said YES I WANT THAT TOO.
> 
> It took me SO LONG to finish writing it that I am not sure they still want said fic or remember having asked for it, but here it is, anyway, in case they do. <3

Douglas woke early, from decades of habit. He got up to use the loo, made coffee, then returned to bed to enjoy a bit more of a lie-in. Martin--exhausted by the exertions of his double life, by the activities of the night before, by his own Martin-ness, perhaps--slept on. He startled at the disturbance of Douglas climbing back in next to him, though, and sat up swiftly with a vague and glassy look of alarm.

“No flight today,” Douglas assured him quickly. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep, shh, it’s fine.” 

Martin sighed and collapsed again, nestling back into the bed with a moan of relief.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Douglas said, settling in alongside him. Coffee, no morning flight, and an armful of warm and sleepy Martin: yes, that was the stuff. He might even manage to doze off again, he thought.

Martin, however, did not doze off again. He got up and left the room for a bit, wearing nothing but a threadbare pair of pyjama trousers that hung low around his hips. Presently he returned with minty breath and cold feet. He snuggled willingly back under the duvet, but he was restless, clearing his throat and changing positions several times, and Douglas could feel him growing more and more tense. 

Douglas finally pulled Martin’s body in against his own and bit him on the earlobe. “Ow!” Martin said, and then “Oh,” in quite a different voice as Douglas sucked gently at the spot he’d just bitten.

“Go back to sleep,” Douglas murmured into his neck.

“Right,” Martin said. “Sorry. Sleep? Sleep. Right.” 

He did an heroic job of pretending, too, for the next four minutes.

Finally Douglas sighed. “No, Martin. I absolutely draw the line at fake snoring. It’s seven in the morning! Can you really not--”

“I am!” Martin protested. “I was just about to drop off, I swear it! I thought the noise might convince my brain a bit more, that’s all!”

“What a positively Arthurian explanation. No; you’re not sleepy--that’s fine. Even though it is _seven in the morning_ on the only day we both have off together all month. Right. How about a game, then?”

“A-- a _word_ game? Now? Douglas, you know I’m not very good at--”

“You’ll like the stakes on this one, though,” Douglas said, and slid a hand down to cup him delicately through the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers. 

_“Oh,”_ said Martin, going hard at once as Douglas fondled him a bit. Ah, youth. “Oh I _see_ ,” Martin added archly, arching into the touch, but Douglas pulled his hand away.

“Not so fast. Geographical locations that begin and end with the same letter,” Douglas said crisply. “Go.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Such as _Warsaw,_ ” Douglas prompted, slipping his hand right down inside Martin’s waistband this time and drawing one finger teasingly up the length of him, feeling him twitch eagerly in response. “Or perhaps...Ontario?” He wrapped his fingers right around and gave Martin one long, full stroke.

“Ah,” Martin gasped. “Ah, ah...Douglas, I can’t possibly think about geography when you’re doing that!”

“No?” Douglas removed his hand again and began to get up. “Very well. Failed experiment. Happens to the best of us. I’ll just make myself some breakfast, then; you can go back to working on your simulated snore.”

“Wait!” Martin caught at Douglas’s sleeve. “Wait. Come back, I’ll think of one. Er...Asia?”

Douglas looked thoughtful. “Asia counts,” he conceded, and turned back to the matter at hand, palming Martin through his pyjamas again. “Take these off, they’re in my way,” he suggested, and Martin shoved them down with alacrity, kicking them aside. 

“Africa,” Martin said, sounding a bit surer, pressing himself up into Douglas’s rewarding grasp. “Ah. Europe. Australia, _oh_ that’s good...continents, continents, what else, er...Antarctica! North...no, North America’s no use...America, though, just America…?”

“Very nice,” Douglas told him, giving him one last firm stroke, with a lingering squeeze at the tip; Martin’s eyelids fluttered shut as he gave a shuddery sigh. Douglas waited. “Is that all?”

“That’s...all the continents. Oh, give me a second, don’t-- Countries. A. Ahhh...Argentina! God, yes, do that again, please. Abyssinia?” 

“Hmm. Archaic, but I’ll allow it,” Douglas said, mainly because he was distracted by the view. He found he liked the frustrated little jerks of Martin’s hips when he took his hand away from him even better, though. He ghosted a light caress up and down the slope of Martin’s pelvis, then drummed his fingers on the bony jut of his hipbone, waiting.

“Oh, go on,” Martin pleaded. “I really _can’t_ think when I’m, when you’re...look, game over, all right?”

“Game over,” Douglas agreed, and rolled away, tucking his hands behind his head.

“Douglas! You’re not just going to leave me in this state?”

“Mmm. And what state would that be?” Douglas rolled back and hovered his hand over Martin’s straining erection. He ached to grasp it again and watch Martin come apart after a few swift, steady strokes, but it was such fun to tease. Perhaps a slight hint was in order. “One of the American states, perhaps, such as--”

“A-a-a...Alaska!” Martin cried. “Oh god. Alabama. A-arizona, er, Ohio, _yes_ , almost, I’m almost, oh, Douglas, please, I’m...ah...Cal...Flor...New...New… New Washing...ton?”

Douglas made a wrong-buzzer noise. “Oh, I’m sorry. Thank you for playing, but no.” He moved out of reach again, and Martin gave a tortured groan of frustration and then reached for himself as if to take matters into his own hands at last.

Douglas was on him at once, though, seizing Martin’s wrists and pinning them above his head. “Don’t be a spoilsport,” he chided. “Would you really give up so easily as that?”

 _”Yes,”_ said Martin, crimson-faced, struggling against him and beginning to laugh semi-hysterically. “For god’s sake, Douglas, at least let me look at a map!”

“Certainly not.” Douglas kissed him, slowly, twice, and Martin moaned mintily into his mouth and went limp beneath him. “You’re not even trying,” Douglas remonstrated. “You can’t want it very much.”

“Is that so?” Martin arched up again, rubbing the hot hard line of his cock against Douglas’s lower belly. The sensation sent a sudden aching spark of desire down through his own groin, but Douglas resolutely sucked in his stomach, denying the contact yet again.

Martin gave a shaky, despairing laugh. “How long are you planning on keeping this up?”

“Oh, all day, if necessary,” Douglas said, nuzzling Martin’s neck--his damp, sweet, flushed neck. It wasn’t remotely true, of course; his resolve was being stretched filament-thin by his need to send Martin over the brink, to feel and see and own his climax. “I’ve got the patience,” Douglas added, and cleared his throat once, meaningly, “the patience of a saint.”

Martin looked blank for a moment, and then, to Douglas’s vast and profound relief, it clicked. “Oh! Saint! Saint, saint...St. _Thomas_. There, now touch me again, you complete and utter-- St. Louis, St. Charles, oh, oh, I know _loads_ of these--”

Douglas devoutly hoped that he did, but he was rewarding each new answer with a series of long, thorough strokes, thumbing over the slickened corona as he did so, and perhaps it wouldn’t take long. 

“St. Simon’s, St. Mary’s, St. James, St….San, San Carlos, San Andreas, San Luis,” Martin chanted, eyes shut tight, bucking up hard into Douglas’s fist. “That’s, oh god, Douglas, so good, I think I’m--oh, yes, I’m nearly there, nearly--!” His voice rose to a sobbing pitch.

“Nearly where?” Douglas coaxed, stilling his hand just as Martin was beginning to pulse. “One more will do, I’d say.”

“Saint…” Martin gasped, trembling and hesitating on the verge.

“Martin,” Douglas admonished him.

“St. Martin’s!” Martin cried out in triumph, closing his fist over Douglas’s and squeezing down hard, spilling into his hand at last, wracked and trembling like a live wire beneath him.

Douglas kissed him through it, everywhere he could reach, and stroked the shudders out of him until Martin finally subsided into a panting pliancy.

“Ha,” Martin mumbled, eyes still shut, smiling widely. “Won that one.”

“Hmm,” said Douglas, busy locating Martin’s discarded pyjama bottoms to wipe his hands on. “Although, in fact…”

Martin’s eyes snapped open. “What?”

“It’s St. Martin, actually. Singular, non-possessive. No S.”

“Oh.” Martin thought it over. “Well, yes. Surely there’s a town somewhere called St. Martin’s, though. Bet you a...well, I don’t want to bet, actually, but just the same. I’m almost certain there is.”

“Perhaps,” Douglas agreed, nudging Martin over onto his side and spooning himself around the warm and languid sweetness of him. “We’ll call it a draw,” he suggested magnanimously. 

“Mmmhm.” Martin yawned, sighed, settled. “I did win, though,” he murmured after a moment, barely audible, just before his breathing evened out into the gentler rhythm of sleep.

Douglas discovered that, for once, he had no need to contradict Martin--not out loud, at any rate.


End file.
